


Blood of the Exalt

by stormbourne



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 13:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18447458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbourne/pseuds/stormbourne
Summary: Naga's plan risks everything. Including the fates of two Exalt heirs, who must struggle with a world they only partially know -- and loneliness they don't know at all. Snapshots of the past from before Owain and Lucina joined Chrom's ranks.





	1. Lucina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeinousActsZX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeinousActsZX/gifts).



When Lucina leapt into the portal, what she had half-expected to happen was: Nothing.

She knew it was uncouth and faithless of her. Naga herself opened the gateway to the past for her and the others; there was no reason for her to present any sort of deception. But ever since Naga proposed the plan, Lucina had been hesitant. The Risen and Grima had taken everything from her. Wouldn't it only have been right for this to be beyond her reach as well? 

But instead, time warped around her. Space lost its form, the pillars of Naga's temple shifting into loose visions of themselves and then fading entirely. Lucina found herself standing in the midst of Naga-blue light. She had expected it to be a plunge, if it was anything. And besides that, she had expected it to be over at once. A blink and that was it -- from her world into her father's, without so much as a moment passed. Instead, it seemed more like ... stepping through the timeline of her own accord. She reached out and touched some of the textured light around her. It felt like water, liquid and cool against her skin. 

"Child," Naga's voice said from somewhere behind, above, and all around her. "You must hurry."

She jolted, and then began moving. It felt more like the light and color around her was moving than that she was, but she kept striding forward regardless. And then, when a pinprick of something -- _different_ \-- appeared through the haze, she picked up her pace. The pinprick widened into a window, but as it did, she became aware of other figures in the haze with her. Not the others, coming with her into this central moment as she'd hoped -- none of them were anywhere to be seen. No, the figures around her, fading into and out of the timeline, reaching for the realm where her father still lived -- they were Risen.

She knew it was impossible in a realm outside of time, but she felt like her opportunity to reach her father -- to _save_ her father -- was slipping away from her with every single moment. The window became a doorway, Risen slipping through it. A woman screamed. _No,_ Lucina thought, and lunged for the doorway before her, desperate to reach it before it closed. 

The pool of nothingness around her gave way to woods, to fire, to darkness and earth and Risen surging on a girl she recognized, at once, as her aunt. 

No time. She moved. Her hand found Falchion without so much as a thought. 

When it was over, she was lucky to get away without being asked more questions. Staying so close to her father's path and expecting not to be caught was even further pushing her luck. But with the details of his death still so unclear, what other options did she have? 

She had never expected how difficult it would be to follow behind him, and not to act.

He was ... young, her father. Perhaps only a few years older than she was, at this point in time. So it was easy -- too easy -- to assume he was vulnerable. She had always known he was strong, but she had learned far too early in her life that didn't mean he was invincible. Every time he pulled close to a Risen, or to one of Gangrel's men, she barely managed to hold herself back from rushing in, defending him with everything she had. 

He could, and did, manage. After all, it hadn't been Plegians or the walking dead that killed him, in the world she came from. She kept her watch on the people around him, when she was close enough to do so. Not even the other Shepherds -- not even her friends' parents -- were immune from her scrutiny. The tactician he kept at his side, that he claimed as his closest friend, was the one that made her wariest. She didn't remember reading about a Robin at all, and certainly she'd never met her father's beloved advisor. 

Was it a difference in the timeline? Or was it a sign of something more sinister?

In the end, it didn't matter. Not a single one of them so much as made a move. Gangrel and his Grimleal puppeteers did their best to destroy Ylisse, and where her father could not thwart them herself, she did it for him. Assassins and bandits the awakened dead -- she killed them all, if they raised their swords against her father where he could not protect himself. She might have gone further, if not for fear that she would be caught.

But that was a risk she couldn't take. 

Naga had made it clear to her that she had to wait until after she had been born in this time to reveal her identity to her father. There were too many possibilities that depended on her own birth. Would Chrom ascend the throne? Would he even have a daughter? Would he wed? Or would he instead die in battle against Gangrel, or on a Grimleal knife, or -- 

She shut her train of thought down every time it wandered down those paths.

She could not claim to understand Naga's wisdom, but then, who could comprehend the mind of a god? She merely had to trust that advice and follow it with all her heart. _Do as you will, child, but take heed not to cause your father to change his path unwisely._ She could but hope that the others did the same, but ...

But the more time passed, the more certain she became that she was alone.

She saw not so much as a hair of the others. No sign of Cynthia, watching from overhead. No reckless bravado from Owain leading into yelping defeat when he -- inevitably -- ended up getting hurt as a result. No advice from Laurent, none of Gerome's soothing, silent presence ... 

For all the hardship in her life, Lucina had not known, until now, what it truly was to be entirely alone. 

She had to make do. There were, after all, no other options. She had to raise her chin, face forward, and keep moving. Her own world was lost to her. She had to do what she could to save this one. 

So, her father's travels became her own. She saw more of the realm than ever she had in her own time, though not a single footstep brought her so much as the sight of any of her own comrades. But Naga had given her this chance knowing she was equal to it, and she would do what she had to, even if she had to do it alone. 

-

The arena was silent as Lucina sheathed her sword. Even the Feroxi men that she'd felled didn't utter a word as they pulled themselves back to sitting positions, or crawled away from her. The strongest of the lot was perched against the wall directly below the Khan's seat.

Lucina had heard plenty about Khan Basilio, though she'd never met him before. She had the itching at the back of her mind that the Feroxi man below him looked slightly familiar, but there was no time to think about that. She turned toward the khan and fell to one knee.

"West-Khan Basilio," she said. "Having bested your champion, I would seek to take his place." She made an effort to counter her Ylissean accent and pitched her voice as low as she could, though it was likely less necessary here. Plenty of Feroxi women were warriors; the East-Khan herself was infamously formidable. Beesides that, Basilio likely to turn away a powerful sellsword, Ylissean or no. Still, the fewer questions asked about her identity, the better. Blue-haired swordsmen were uncommon enough without them being women of obvious Ylissean descent, mask or no.

The Khan let out a deep laugh. She kept her head bowed.

"I assure you," she said when his laughter had quieted. "My offer is a serious one." Only then did she look up.

"Well," Basilio said, folding his arms, "what brings a warrior of your caliber to Regna Ferox in the first place? Shouldn't you be off making your coin working for Gangrel? Or I hear the Shepherds of Ylisse are always hard-up for good blood. Rumor is that their commander prince is the only competent one in the lot." 

Lucina tried not to let the words wound her. Keeping her face even was an ordeal all its own, but she was glad that the khan couldn't see her eyes. She was certain she had flinched. His comment might have been intended as a compliment, but it was nothing if not damning her father with faint praise. 

"I'm looking for a place to hone my talent," she said, attempting to enunciate her words more like a Feroxi. "Skills like mine are lost on the Shepherds. They wouldn't know what to do with me." 

Khan Basilio's mouth spread into a wide, deep smile. The eyebrow over his working eye slid down to help lend him a ferocious, almost predatory grin. "Well," he said, tilting his head toward the injured man -- Valmese, Lucina was sure -- sitting below his throne, nursing a still-bleeding cut on his cheek, "you've certainly bested my finest warrior. If that's the sort of thing you intend to do with your skills, then I certainly think you won't be disappointed should you make the arena your new home." 

She peeled her eyes away from the wounded man. It wasn't that she didn't feel remorse for beating him so soundly. It was that she didn't have a choice. She knew that her father would be here within the month, and most likely even sooner. Every day she wasted not trying to stop him meant Grima was one step closer to awakening. Perhaps this wasn't the wisest way to save her father, but if she stopped him here -- if she stopped him here, in Regna Ferox, then the Plegian war would have to end another way. Perhaps even, she hoped -- naively -- with peace. Perhaps Aunt Emmeryn would be spared. Maybe this could all end here and now, with minimal bloodshed. 

But maybe it could end another way. Maybe Gangrel's endless war was a requirement to prevent the rise of Grima. Maybe once he'd gotten his revenge against her late grandfather, the Grimleal would no longer have control over him and his thirst for blood would be slaked.

Maybe, much as she hated to admit it, Ylisse had to be lost for her father to be saved. 

She couldn't leave even that venue open. If she found a single chance to save her father, and the world with him, she had to try.

"Remind me," Khan Basilio said, amusement nested in his voice like a dragon atop its hoard. "What was your name?"

"Marth," Lucina said. "And I don't want to answer any other questions."

His eye glinted, and his grin widened. "We know not to ask too much here," he said. "You'll do just fine."

-

The moment where she nearly lost her nerve was when her father and his entourage stood over her in the Feroxi arena, his sword gripped tight, and demanded answers. She knew now that she'd been naive to think she could stop him so easily, but she had wanted to believe that she could change something. Anything. 

For a moment when her mouth opened, the truth nearly fell out of her in a single breath. Father, it's me, your Lucina. I'm sorry. I had to try and stop you. You don't understand the path I've walked. But she forced her own silence, Naga's warning echoing through her mind. She had not even been born yet, in this world. Father wasn't even wed. There might even be ways to save the previous exalt from her fate, if she did her work well enough. Saying anything to Father now would only confuse him -- and might make things even worse, down the line. She had to be strong, and she had to be silent.

She gave him no answers. She left Regna Ferox.

But she didn't hesitate to fall back into his shadow, when he also ventured back south. 

As the day drew closer to Emmeryn's assassination, she gauged what she would need to say. Who she would need to speak to and what she would need to tell them. And it became clear that her father was the only option. It was going to be a precarious balance. How could she resist looking into his eyes and telling him why she was here? For that matter, how would she resist calling him "Father"? 

She practiced every night before she fell asleep. What she was going to say. Forcing her mouth to form her father's name, to address him as a colleague instead of as a parent. _What if I told you that I've seen the future?_ She had to toe the line carefully. Somehow, she had to impart to her father that she knew his fate, but even then that she meant him no harm. And she had to do it without looking into his eyes and telling him that she was his daughter, from a horrid future he needed to prevent. 

"I'm about to save your life," she said aloud, into the mirror. The inn she'd chosen had a single washroom, shared among its guests, but it was late in the evening and everyone else in the building was asleep. How many times had she read about the day of the exalt's assassination? An assassin in the bushes, leaping on Chrom as a distraction. An attack within the manor while the prince defended himself. By the time he realized it had all been a ploy, it was too late. "I'm about to save your life," she repeated. She mapped out the estate in her head. If she killed the man attacking her father, they would still have time to make it back and protect Emmeryn. 

It was a bit ... strange, to think of protecting an aunt that she had never known. And that, very likely, would never know her as who she really was. Just as a masked swordsman, going by the name of a long-dead king. 

"I'm about to save your life," she told her father, days later, and moved.

Fate, for the moment, changed. Emmeryn lived, and the Emblem was secure. 

Lucina knew better to remain close, after her face had been revealed. "Marth" vanished, but fell into step just behind Father the instant he turned his back. She didn't dare step away -- though she had changed the world for the moment, there was always the chance that it would fall right back onto a dire path. 

Which it seemed to do almost at once. Emmeryn gave her life, and Lucina found herself tossing and turning at night, wondering -- if I had strayed further from Father, could I have saved her? Should I truly have been following her path all this time? Was keeping my eyes on him alone selfish, or even childish of me? 

Aunt Maribelle used to lecture Lucina, when she still lived. Telling her there was no use in losing herself in second-guesses, when all she needed to do was step forward, raise her chin, and keep moving. It was some of the wisest advice Lucina had ever received, and yet -- 

Yet. 

Yet as the months passed, as she watched her father bring peace to the realm, as she grew wary of rumors of the distant Valmese conflict, she couldn't stop her wondering. If she had been honest with Father, would all of this have been averted? Perhaps her life may have been undone -- but that was a small price to pay, for peace and for her father's life. She could never go home, regardless. 

"The Exalt has a daughter, the princess Lucina!" a town crier shouted on the Ylisse streets one day, and then, what seemed like the very next, "Valm advances on Ylisse! The Exalt prepares a delegation to seek Plegian aid!" 

She made up her mind. 

She didn't know who in the army could be trusted, but she knew that no Grimleal could be. Rumors were that the new Plegian king was a devout follower, with Gangrel's same priestess serving as his advisor. No man who honored Grima would allow the bearer of the Emblem to live. The delegation was bound to be some sort of trap.

So she dogged her father's footsteps once more. This time, she knew what she would do. There was no longer any need to fear for her own safety. 

For a moment, it seemed like the shadows lifted. Lucina could see the clear and distant future ahead, one where Ylisse continued on its path of peace, one where her father lived to his gray years as a just and wise king, and one where her other self grew up loved and held and never afraid, not once, that the next day might be her last. 

It was worth it. She would face her father, and she would tell him the truth. It was the least that she could do, to prepare him for his own fight. This timeline had long since gone beyond her knowledge of the past. From here, it was shadows and guesswork. He deserved to know the truth, and together, perhaps the two of them could make sense of whatever plots the Grimleal had in mind, with the Emblem still secure. 

The Exalt and his pet tactician stepped into Plegia, and, not so much in their shadow as she was clinging to their backs, Lucina followed closely behind.


	2. Owain

The world of the past was ... confusing.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to handle himself. He was Owain, scion of the stars, chosen by prophecy, vessel of Naga's will! Anything that fate threw at him, he could handle. Not only could he handle it, but it was child's play for the great Owain. He took it all with a hearty guffaw. Splitting waves of enemies with his sword blade, leaving a trail of stories in his wake! 

It was just that.

Well.

It was all kind of, sort of, a little bit.

Incredibly, horrendously lonely.

That probably wasn't fair. It wasn't Brady's fault that he wasn't here, even though they'd gone everywhere together in their own world. That was, after all, the job of two brothers -- in blood, but also in spirit! To stand at one another's side, always ready to be a support in a time of need! And he could hardly blame Lucina, either. Wherever she was. But the two of them had always shadowed his steps, back home, making sure he didn't get in over his head. Or, in Lucina's case, usually telling him so afterward. Brady, for his part, was just as partial to I-told-you-sos. Earned ones, much as Owain hated to admit it. 

He ought to have been thankful for the opportunity. At last, a chance for Owain, son of the Branded line, blood of Naga's exalt, to strut his stuff! To leave legends everywhere he touched! To step out of the shadows, find holy weapons, and begin writing a legacy that would send grown men stumbling to their knees in awe! 

But. 

Well.

How was a scion of the true dawn meant to do that without his most trustworthy allies? 

Sure, sometimes Lucina was overbearing, and he and Brady didn't always see eye to eye, but they were family. He could no more turn the two of them away than he could cut off his own -- rampaging -- sword hand. And, in the dark of the night where he had to contemplate his grand and overwhelming fate with only the stars for company, he found that he really, really, _really_ missed having somebody to talk to. The two of them, his brother and his cousin, had always been the ones that he loved talking with most. 

After long enough, though, he began to perk at the idea of finding literally anybody.

When he'd passed through a farming town during his search for a legendary sword, the girls there had been all a-gossip about a winged horse nearby. For half a heartbeat, he'd lost himself with hope that it was Cynthia, and at last, their paths of destiny had intertwined! But no -- it was a wild pegasus. For that matter, it was one that did _not_ take very kindly to random swordsmen coming too close, and Owain had to put up with an aching shoulder and a hoof-shaped bruise for weeks afterward. 

But, as usual, the gods saw fit to bless him even in his hour of suffering. While chasing the concept of Cynthia being nearby, he'd come across a camp of bandits and thoroughly dispatched every last one of them. While only taking, erm, a little bit of damage in the process. He was fairly sure that scars were the marks of a proven hero, and they were much more dignified than hoofprints. The villagers even took pity on him, and, as thanks for his service, one of them let him stay in her house until he had fully recovered. It was almost -- _almost_ \-- like being with Mother again. The woman had the same sweet smile, the same wild blond hair, but Owain knew better than to think she was some distant relation, much as he longed for any kind of connection in the darkness of this unknown world. 

The warmth from the villagers, though, rekindled his spirit. Their kindness and willingness to help a stranger made him see that he'd become closed from the world, afraid of what new, unknown burdens it might bear. And that wasn't fair to any of the people of this realm, now, was it? Everyone deserved to feel the light of the great Owain, chosen of the stars! Wasn't it his job -- nay, his sacred duty -- to grace them with his presence? To lend them his aid and leave his legend in their midst?

And if making his name well-known among the peasantry happened -- just coincidentally -- to bring Lucina or Brady his way, then, well. What a whim of the gods! At this point he'd even take _Yarne._

He might, uh, look the other way, though, if it was Noire who came after him. It wasn't that he didn't like her, it was just. She was. Sort of scary? 

As he roamed, working on his new goal, news of the Exalt's exploits reached his ears, occasionally. For a brief, horrible moment, when he heard that the Exalt had died, he saw the darkness of his own future spread out before him like a tapestry. Woes and terrors that ought to have been unknown by even the worst of men danced in his mind, and he didn't sleep at all that night for the nightmares of Grima.

But more news came, and settled his fears. Prince Chrom was Exalt now, and had wed. Then Prince Chrom had a daughter. Lucina. Owain's own cousin, except a baby. And from another world. This timeline stuff was ... really sort of over Owain's head, so he tried not to think too hard about whether this meant that all of them had succeeded in changing the past, or if it instead meant that the past was actually more on course than ever before and he was a guileless fool standing in the way of an oncoming storm. 

Besides, the second of those thoughts was really, _really_ depressing.

He had faith that Lucina was doing her best to divert the course of history. But he wasn't sure if he should surge forward, nose into his uncle's life and maybe make sure that his mothers were doing alright. He had the distinct sense that Naga would disapprove, and that Lucina wouldn't be far behind her. _Owain,_ he could almost hear her saying, _what were you thinking? Now everything that's going to happen to us is all your fault!_

Which was scary enough that he steered clear. 

He had to have faith in Lucina. For that matter, he needed to have faith in his mothers. They had always been able to look out for one another, and he knew that they would do their upmost to keep one another safe. In fact, he'd probably only confuse and upset them! Better for him to keep chasing legends, carving up the countryside, until he can find a better opportunity to intervene.

Or maybe until one found him.

And so what if he happened to get a little bit lost? He was the chosen hero, after all. He would find a way to not only survive, but thrive in the midst of his adversity.

.... He hoped.

-

His wanderings led him, again, to a small village in the mountains. He was sure -- fairly sure, anyway -- that he'd ended up clear on the other side of Ylisse, or maybe even somewhere further beyond. It wasn't cold enough to be Regna Ferox, at least, which he was grateful for. He'd always taken after Maribelle in his intolerance for cold weather. Brady never let him hear the end of it, either. "At least Ma remembers to dress warm," he scolded every time. 

There was, however, a bit of a chill on the wind, so Owain let himself wander down from the hillside paths and into the town, hoping that there might be an inn where he could take shelter for a bit. His hopes began to dwindle, though, as he drew closer. Not a single building had a light on behind its windows. If anything, it seemed like a ghost town, though the roads were well-maintained and not overgrown in the least. It wasn't what Owain would have expected from an abandoned village. 

A shriek pierced the air and he turned, on instinct, toward it. Between the buildings, he saw a woman running, something clutched to her chest, hair streaming behind her. And on her heels stalked a man which had to be a bandit, by his scraggly beard and his tattered clothing. At once, the quiet village made sense. This deep in the mountains, the town was probably prime raiding territory. This bandit group, or any others, probably ravaged the place often, and all that the citizens could do was hide and hope that it passed quickly. 

He stepped forward, drew his sword, and shouted, "Stop where you are, evildoer!" 

The bandit turned toward him, and he had no choice but to charge forward. The man went down before he could cry out, but Owain already knew he couldn't be alone. He jerked toward the city square, biting his lip as he considered which one of the others to go for first. There was a man with a nasty-looking axe, but he didn't look fast enough to catch Owain. Another man had what looked like a Feroxi scimitar. There were at least three others in the square, and probably more in the streets beyond. He could probably handle them. He hadn't spent years fighting Grima's goons to fall to some common brigands.

"S -- sir?"

The woman was behind him. He realized the thing in her arms was nothing more than a bundle of clothing, nothing of any real value, and still the monsters had gone after her. 

"Are you well, miss?" he asked, keeping his sword out as he took a step forward. "These blackhearts ought to know not to harm a being of the light like yourself! Please, get to safety. I'll fight the villains off." 

"There's -- there's too many of them," she said. "You need to hide yourself. Please, don't be a hero. You'll only get yourself hurt, and make them angrier."

"A man can't help what he is!" Owain turned to give the woman a grin over his shoulder. "I am Owain, chosen scion of the gods themselves. Leave the brigands to me, my lady. I'll find you again once it's over." 

Then he rushed forward. 

After it was finished, the lights came back on one-by-one in the village, with people daring to venture out of their houses in slow numbers. Owain had taken a seat on one of the benches in the square, one hand clapped around a slow-bleeding cut on his sword arm. He had bandages in his things, but he just needed a moment to regain his composure before he went about cleaning himself up. 

"Sir?"

When he looked up, the same woman was there. Her arms weren't full of laundry anymore, but she did have a rolled white cloth between her hands, with a tight line between concerned eyebrows. 

"Well met, fair maiden!" he greeted. "I told you that I would send those ne'er-do-wells packing. Tell me you didn't spare any worry for a soul such as myself. I would hate to see you unhappy!" 

Her eyebrows drew together even tighter and, for a moment, he had a vision of Lissa's fury anytime she and Maribelle argued, or anytime that Owain was in hot water. Then the woman swatted him on the shoulder as she knelt.

"Stop talking funny," she said. "And move your hand so I can get that woundtaken care of. It's the least I can do, when you helped us all out." 

He obediently kept his mouth shut and pulled his hand away. Immediately, she set about wrapping the wound. Why was it, he wondered, that so many people he encountered reminded him of his mothers? This girl didn't even look like either of them. She had long brown hair with a small flower pinned behind one ear, and deep, dark eyes. But he couldn't help but wonder -- where were his mothers now? Were they safe? 

How long was it going to be until he got to see them again? 

"Are -- are you _crying?_ " the woman asked as she tied off his bandage.

"I'm," Owain choked, "I'm simply touched by, by the simple country generosity of the commonfolk toward a wandering vassal like meeeee." His last word turned into a wail. Brady would never let him hear the end of this if he'd seen it. He missed his mothers. He missed Maribelle and Brady practicing violin and he missed Lissa's hugs and he missed Lucina watching over him and then lecturing whenever he got into scrapes he couldn't handle. Even this scrape would have been a lot easier with her there beside him. 

He had to find her.

He sniffed loudly, turning his face away from the woman bandaging up his arm so he wouldn't have to see her disgust at his weakness. "My apologies," he managed at last, stiffly. "It's simply that it has been a while since I've been treated so kindly and by a stranger at that! A wanderer like myself grows accustomed to being alone."

"Well," she said, her voice skeptical, "whatever you say, mister." 

He fell silent and let her do her work, glancing at her once more as she did. Her face wasn't that different from Lucina's, with the way she focused while she worked, or even from Brady's, with how she poked her tongue out as she tied off the knot. 

He had to find them. 

The woman insisted on putting him up in the inn for the night -- apparently her mother ran the place -- but the next morning, he waved goodbye to the two of them as he headed down the road, back out of the mountains and toward the winding path that led to Ylisstol. He had to head back toward home, and at least attempt to find Lucina and Brady. Hopefully, they wouldn't be especially far afield. 

And, well.

If there happened to be a legendary weapon on the way, he wouldn't exactly mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to HeinousActsZX for the inspiration on the concept!


End file.
